


Equals

by HigherMagic



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werecat, Alternate Universe - Werewolves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three rules for the were-cat who lives in the middle of the woods. Jensen knows them intimately; he had learned through example and, when there was no example to be given, he learned it through punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equals

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

There are three rules for the were-cat who lives in the middle of the woods. Jensen knows them intimately; he had learned through example and, when there was no example to be given, he learned it through punishment.

The werewolf pack that Jensen belonged to were situated exactly seven miles away from the were-cat's hut, which was literally in the middle of non-country that had never been named because nothing grew there. Nothing but the wildest and most dangerous of creatures.

Like Misha.

Jensen had never intended to cross paths with the frightening creature who could sometimes be seen lurking in the shadows of the shadows, the big black cat with fur sleek and smooth as a swordsman's blade and dark as the starless sky, with eyes that glowed, blue and glassy and cold, who spoke in riddles designed to trick the mind and lure young wolves to their deaths. He had been out hunting with his older brother and had gotten lost, and the cat had found him before Joshua did.

Jensen thinks it was the best thing to have ever happened to him. Misha was not like the legends.

Well, he was, but he was also so much _more_ than that. The were-cat was scary, and mean, but Jensen would just say that he liked things a certain way and didn't hesitate to make his displeasure known. Some would say Misha was half-mad, and that might be true, but there was great wisdom in some of the things he said if one knew what to listen for.

Jensen never _came_ to the cat. He would wander away from his Pack, either by intention or not, and Misha would find him. Misha always found him, always talked to him until Jensen was ready to try and find his way home. Sometimes he failed, and the were-cat would find him again, and they would talk some more. It was like a mini-hunt. Sometimes Jensen felt like he was chased, hunted, tracked, all the time. It made his belly burn hot and caused shivers to run up and down his spine.

Sometimes he didn't return to the Pack for days, and just spent his time with Misha.

His parents didn't know, of course – how could they? No, his secret was very safe. It was nothing more than a figment of Jensen's imagination at best; a prelude to his descent into madness at worst.

He doesn't mind.

But he is afraid.

Jensen is seventeen – by wolf standards, it is old enough to take a mate or be mated to, and the pack he belongs to is quite traditional in that a lot of the matings are arranged before the two children even said their first words. Tomorrow, Jensen is destined to be given to a large, bull-headed wolf that he doesn't even know the name of, but he knows he's mean and aggressive and gives Jensen bad feelings whenever he looks at him.

Jensen doesn't like him. He wants to talk to someone who might help. He does not run to Misha, because no one runs to Misha. He wanders aimlessly and lets the big cat find him.

Misha appears to him an hour from sunset. One moment there is nothing but shadow surrounding the young wolf in the clearing and then two eyes like moons are staring at him, unblinking, glassy like a clear sky. Jensen shivers, lowering his head when the big cat melts out of the shadows, approaching him with twitching whiskers and a lazily swishing tail.

One rule of Misha's is that Jensen never seeks him out. The wolf has obeyed this one as much as he can, not that he has much choice in the matter.

The second is that Jensen is to never look Misha in the eye. The were-cat gave Jensen a cut on his belly that he will bear the rest of his life for his first mistake. Jensen vowed to never slip up again.

And the third rule is that Jensen will not touch Misha unless he is given permission, or the cat initiates it first. Sometimes they do touch – sometimes Misha will curl his semi-prehensile tail around Jensen's, laying on the ground, and will squeeze it, rubbing the fur the wrong way as it disentangles. Jensen always shivers at that, his hackles standing on end, his human conscience flaring up with white fire.

" _And what brings the pretty green-eyed wolf to me today?_ " the big cat asks once he has finished his initial perusal of Jensen, his delicate nostrils flaring as he lightly presses his nose to the nape of the wolf's neck, which Jensen bares in submission, his body lightly trembling in fear and anticipation. The cat's tail twitches again, his breath ruffling Jensen's fur. " _Change, boy_."

Jensen shivers again, and closes his eyes, keeping them averted, as he switches his form back to his human shape. Misha's fourth, unofficial rule is complete and total obedience, but Jensen, as a submissive wolf, does that anyway, so it's never been an issue for them. Jensen moves to kneel, sitting on his haunches, and keeps his gaze fixed solidly on some point by Misha's giant paw, and he takes a deep breath. The air is getting cold and his breath mists. There are gentle clouds of steam rising from the cat. He has been running.

" _Answer me, Jensen_ ," Misha purrs, his voice low and rough, a threatening growl and a seductive murmur at the same time, and Jensen feels himself blush, knowing Misha has made him take this form so that the cat can see his reactions to Misha's words and voice, unhindered by fur.

"I am to be mated tomorrow," Jensen whispers, closing his eyes and biting his lip.

Misha growls, but by the time Jensen has opened his eyes to look at the cat, only to remember that he is not allowed, the attitude is gone and all that he sees is an irritated flick of the cat's tail and a shrug of his slender, feline shoulders. " _And?"_ the cat asks without a care, with a cold lack of pity. " _What makes the puppy whine for the panther's bite, hmm?"_

Jensen had given up long ago trying to decipher which kind of cat Misha was – he may have been a jaguar, or a leopard, or a tiger. He looked like all of those and none. "He frightens me," Jensen confesses in a whisper.

" _A lot of things frighten you,"_ Misha snaps with another disinterested flick of his tail. Jensen swallows against the jab. " _The sky frightens you, the shadows frighten you. Why should you fear flesh? Flesh can be wounded_."

"He is twice my age and size, and has the temper of a volcano."

Misha's whiskers twitch, his nostrils flare and he begins to slowly circle the wolf again, his tail occasionally curling around Jensen, gently tapping his chin or running up his thigh, subtly directing the boy to change his posture. Jensen ends up with his knees set shoulder-width apart, his back straight, and his head off to one side and down, hands behind his back. Misha rumbles his satisfaction, seeing the red blood-light of the sun cast down on Jensen, highlighting the different shades of honey and copper in his hair and giving his pale skin the color of blood, and Jensen flushes, hearing the pleased noise, that familiar warmth building up inside of him at the thought of having pleased the giant cat.

The cat huffs softly – Jensen can feel his breath on the back of his neck, and the cat curls his upper lip back, baring large, serrated, backward-facing teeth. " _Volcanoes are not so special_ ," Misha whispers, sending shivers up and down Jensen's spine. His tail, silky soft and firm from muscle, slides around Jensen's throat. " _What know you of volcanoes_?"

He forces Jensen's head back, making the boy gasp, his eyes flashing open, his body tensing up. "I…" He shakes his head, for he can't respond – the cat is luring him down a dangerous road and he knows enough to avoid them. "It is smart to want to put distance between oneself and such a thing," he manages to get out.

Misha snorts. " _Then I suppose we have proven that you are not very smart_."

Jensen's young pride bristles at that. "What do you mean by that?" he demands, his shoulders tensing until Misha flicks his tail over the muscle, not so much soothing them as warning them to relax. "What do you mean?" he asks again, calmer this time.

 _"I'm merely trying to distinguish the sun from a volcano,"_ Misha replies in a rough purr, touching his soft, dry nose to Jensen's cheek. His warm breath ghosts over Jensen's neck and the boy shivers, keeping his eyes clenched tightly shut so he does not inadvertently meet the cat's eyes, although he can feel Misha's cold gaze burning into him, unblinking and angry. There is the sound like a cracking whip this time when Misha's tail swishes and it makes Jensen flinch. _"Do you know the answer?"_

Jensen swallows, trying to think of the answer. His eyelids flutter, wanting more than anything to look into the cat's bright, beautiful eyes. He's only see them once but he wants to see them again – they're like the forbidden food or touch, the moments he steals with Misha are precious and irreplaceable.

"The sun is far away – no matter how far one tries, one cannot reach it. They are forever apart," he whispers, his body going lax in relief. "A volcano will kill if touched."

 _"So will the sun._ "

"And yet we all aspire to touch it," Jensen whispers in reply, opening his eyes and staring at the ground. His fists clench, he wets his lips and Misha snuffles gently, turning away, and Jensen dares to raise his eyes. "I don't want him. I want…"

 _"Yes?"_ the cat asks when Jensen doesn't continue, and the boy swallows, looking away. Misha laughs darkly. _"Does the puppy wish for something a little more…exotic?"_ Jensen swallows, and cannot answer that – he doesn't need to anyway. Misha knows. Probably has known from the very beginning; he's wise and cruel that way. _"You are rain, Jensen,"_ the cat continues after another moment of silence, still facing away from the kneeling wolf, _"and rain that is poisoned serves no one."_

Jensen sucks in a breath, turning his face towards Misha so he can see the cat out of the corner of his eye. He opens his mouth to speak but then Misha suddenly turns to face him and Jensen hurries to correct himself. He shudders when the cat gives out a low growl, his upper lip curling back and wrinkling, saliva dripping from his partially parted jaws. Jensen swears he can hear the drip of it on the rough, itching grass that he's sure has stained his knees by now.

 _"What do you want, Jensen?"_ The young wolf has to stifle a startled yelp, for the voice comes right by his shoulder, and Misha's body heat seems to entrap him – the cat's earthy, heady scent wraps around the uneasy wolf's mind, making him shiver again. The cat's tail twitches impatiently, slowly snaking down along Jensen's thigh and then brushing between his legs. _"Tell me_ ," Misha coaxes in a soft, irresistible purr.

"I want to stay," Jensen answers honestly.

And it's true – he doesn't want to leave the strange, frightening cat and return to a life of domestication and breeding. He doesn't want to spend all his time shadowed by his dominant brother and sister while he is left to the degrading life of a carrier and submissive wolf. He wants Misha, with his riddles and cruel jokes and shadowy presence.

Misha snorts. _"You are not brave enough to stay,"_ he says derisively, although he does not move away. His soft, strong tail curls underneath Jensen's half-hard cock, brushing along the flesh with his soft, thick fur, making the wolf tremble with the effort to keep still.

Jensen swallows at that. "I can be," he argues.

_"When you will not look me in the eye?"_

The wolf swallows again. "Justifiably," he whispers in reply, and Misha, as though reading his mind, moves his tail up to gently brush across the long, thick scar that runs from Jensen's right hip, to stop just above his heart. The cat rumbles, thinking.

_"You are frightened of shadows."_

Another long pause, before Jensen opens his eyes, able to see the cat's muzzle out of the corner of his vision. "What are you afraid of?" he asks, finally turning his head towards the cat, and while it still doesn't bring them into eye contact, it's enough of a challenge that it gets his point across.

Misha snorts again, shaking his great head, and presses his dry nose against Jensen's cheek, his tail returning to lightly brush against Jensen's manhood, making it flush and rise while Jensen trembles beneath him. _"I'm not good for you, pup,"_ he whispers, growling low and soft in Jensen's ear while the boy gasps, his body arching instinctively towards the pleasurable touch of Misha's tail on his cock. _"I will be unbelievably cruel to you and hurt you in unimaginable ways, for sport – simply because I can."_

Jensen shivers, biting his lower lip to stop a sound when Misha trails his nose down, licking at Jensen's racing pulse, and the wolf bares his throat willingly to the press of teeth and tongue. _"I will turn you against your friends and family – I will make you their enemy. I will fuck you and leave you and I will not wait for you to catch up. I am not a protector, Jensen, and I am not a friend or mate."_

The werewolf whines, his fingers digging into his palms as Misha continues his slow, torturous touches, the promise of a bite and the not-enough friction on his sensitive erection. He tries rocking his hips forward, needing more, but the cat denies him.

"I will make myself your equal," he vows, almost too softly to hear, and the cat's triangular ears curves forward from where they usually are, flat against his head, flashing some of the pink flesh underneath. "I will make you proud."

His laughter curls around Jensen, cruel and mocking. _"We'll see."_

Suddenly, a hand shoves at Jensen's back, sending him sprawling – his reflexes are just fast enough that he doesn't get a faceful of dirt and grass, but it's a close thing, the wolf managing the catch himself but jolting his wrists painfully in the process. He hisses, about to try and get to his feet but another hand joins the first, and a warm body covers his, pinning him down with ease, and there is a rough, growling voice by his ear;

"Our rules don't change because of this, puppy." The term is meant to be derogative and cruel, but the voice that utters it is breathy, dark with lust and anger, and it just makes Jensen shiver, instinctively relaxing and spreading his knees out, letting his weight rest on his forearms and trembling thighs while a warm body settles between his legs. The wolf part of him that knows what is happening urges his body lower to the ground, so that he is easier to mount, even if his human brain hasn't quite caught up yet. He goes so low to the ground that the head of his cock brushes against the long strands of grass, tickling and teasing.

Misha's body is warm and smooth, absent of the usual fur, and the contrast, actually feeling human skin along is back, shocks a gasp out of Jensen, who arches up, eager and desperate to feel the were-cat on top of him, taking him and claiming him.

"Please, Misha," he begs, stretching his arms out in front of him and digging his nails into the dirt, spreading his legs a little further at the press of the cat's knees.

Misha growls, one hand stroking down Jensen's back. "Such a pretty innocent," he mutters, admiring the play of muscle on Jensen's young body, no doubt seeing how he will fill out over the coming years and become one of the great beasts he calls his enemy. "I think red is your color."

Jensen doesn't understand what that means yet, but he will. Misha leans down again, baring his serrated teeth against the wolf's muscle, to the curve of his neck, and quickly sheathes his teeth into the young, supple flesh, hands gripping bruisingly tight as Jensen shouts and bucks, the action painful more than anything else. It hurts, feeling Misha's curved teeth entering him, shedding his blood, and the scent of it as it drips down Jensen's neck and across his throat is dizzying and nauseating. Jensen takes deep breaths through his mouth and tries to keep calm.

Misha chuckles, the sound wet as he presses his blood-slicked lips against Jensen's nape, baring his teeth again but not biting down. One of his hands slides up Jensen's flank, dipping under his arm and he forces two of his fingers behind Jensen's teeth, making him suck them and wet them, curving his fingers upward deliberately to make the wolf choke.

He does bite down again when he pulls his fingers out, not giving Jensen a bit of respite, selfish with his own pleasure because the puppy knows what he's getting into. He taunts Jensen now; "Still want it, puppy?" He laughs, thrusting one semi-wet finger into Jensen's virgin-tight body, ignoring how the wolf whines, his muscles clenching and trying to force him out. "This is nothing compared to what's coming next – sure this is still what you want?"

Jensen whines, dragging his fingers through the dry dirt, digging furrows into it with his grip, his jaw clenching, trying to relax enough that Misha's touch might feel good. Heat curls low in his belly from the cat's voice alone, and when Misha crooks his finger just right, flashes of white go off behind the young wolf's eyes. Jensen lets out a low, pained sound, his back bowing from the incredible feeling, his hips rocking back onto Misha's finger, desperate to get that feeling again.

"Oh dear," the cat tuts softly, cocking his head to one side. "That sounded painful. I'll try and be gentler."

Jensen gasps when Misha's touch withdraws from him, much shallower, too far away from where he _needs_ that touch again – it had felt so good, so unbelievably – _"Please,_ Misha," he begs again, rocking his hips back against the cat's hand, demanding and needy. He chokes on tears of frustration, unable to believe that the cat would deny him that feeling again, just out of spite.

"Hmm," the cat muses quietly, and then his finger leaves Jensen altogether, only for the cat to force more in, the penetration too dry and so painful. Jensen stifles a cry of pain against his bicep, sinking his teeth into his own muscle so that he doesn't inadvertently give himself away, should Misha touch that one spot again.

He doesn't – he knows, now, and he's not going to let Jensen have that pleasure again. The wolf feels like he could cry from frustration, his erection flagging because it hurts so damn much. Then, Misha pulls his fingers away, spitting on his cock and covering Jensen's trembling body with his own. "Shh," the cat murmurs, petting a hand down Jensen's chest, fisting his cock and stroking it harshly again, forcing the wolf to hiss and rock forward. The blunt head of Misha's cock rests, just touching on Jensen's hole, which clenches in preparation to be filled. "The sun's meant to burn, isn't it? Be silent, puppy." Jensen swallows, gasping again and forcing himself to stay still as Misha pushes forward. It's not wet enough – it's dry and burns and catches on his insides, and he's shaking so hard when Misha thrusts into him, the cat's hand almost unbearably tight around him. It's all he can do not to collapse and scream in frustration when the cat finally bottoms out inside of him and then remains still for an unbearably long amount of time.

The cat growls against Jensen's nape, his free hand digging harshly into Jensen's flank, earning another low moan of pain and a shudder from the wolf. "So tight, puppy," he snarls, his words dark and savage, voice rough from lust. "So innocent. No one will want you after laying with me, green-eyes – you'll be tainted, and dirty, and an outcast. Your family will try to kill you for the dishonor of laying with me."

Jensen shakes his head, knowing the words are true – it brings tears to his eyes. He's no longer a virgin, no longer eligible to be mated to, and to add insult to injury, he is lost to a mysterious terror that lurks in the woods and is a long time enemy of his pack.

"Your betrothed will want you dead," Misha whispers, the deadly serpent in Jensen's ear. The wolf tries to turn his head away, tries to block him out but Misha grabs his chin, forcing Jensen to turn his head towards the cat. He bares his teeth against Jensen's cheek, his voice shaking from dark glee. "I will not protect you – you must strike first," he hisses, making Jensen shiver. The cat begins to pull out, drawing back so much that he almost leaves Jensen completely, and then savagely snaps his hips forward, striking Jensen's prostate almost brutally, making the young wolf howl in pain, gasp in pleasure, his body tightening, impossibly hot and vice-like around Misha's cock.

Jensen shakes his head. "I can't do that," he whispers.

The cat laughs again. "Then you are no equal of mine."

He shoves Jensen's head down, gripping Jensen's hips tight enough that Jensen has to grit his teeth, feeling like Misha is trying to split his skin against his bones, and the cat starts up a harsh, brutal rhythm inside of the wolf. Jensen can only kneel there and take it, his body tight like a bowstring and burning hot, lit on fire from the repeated battering of that spot inside of him. The cat isn't touching him anymore and so Jensen reaches down to fist his erection, desperate to leave this knife-edge of pleasure-pain, desperate for it to be over so that he can recover and concentrate on Misha's pleasure; his own need is making thinking difficult, making it hard to understand and know what the cat wants of him. He just knows that he needs to please and obey.

Jensen comes first, nerves strung tight, body convulsing as the pleasure overtakes his mind and body, and he spills his seed for the first time over his hand and the damp, torn grass beneath him. His body, locked up around Misha's erection and damp from sweat, spit and a little blood, tears the cat's own release from him, and Misha comes with a low roar, throwing his head back, hips still pistoning as he fills Jensen up, claiming the wolf in the most intimate, irreversible way possible. Jensen sobs as Misha softens inside of him, knowing that he has made a choice that he can't ever take back.

Misha pulls out and changes into a cat before Jensen can see him in his human form. The cat hums gently, pressing his nose against Jensen's sore, abused hole, licking at some of the come and blood seeping out of it, and preens a little. _"I was right,"_ he whispers to the trembling wolf; _"Red really is your color."_

He walks around to Jensen's front, his tail shoving Jensen up until the wolf is forced to kneel on weak limbs and sore muscles. Jensen is trembling but forces himself to obey Misha's direction, breathing deeply through flared nostrils to keep himself upright. _"Are you regretting your decision now, puppy?"_ the cat sneers, lip curling in distaste, smelling his taint on Jensen's body.

The wolf bites his lip and takes a deep breath, but then he shakes his head. "No," he whispers, to the cat's surprise.

He flicks his tail dispassionately. _"We'll see,_ " he replies coolly, and then leaves the clearing. Jensen falls back onto his hands and knees, shaking and using all his willpower to keep himself conscious, and slowly shoves himself to his feet.

"Wait!" he calls, looking around for Misha, but the cat is already gone. Lost and confused, Jensen has no choice but to return to his pack, where punishment and shame await him. His chest aches, knowing that this was Misha's intention all along. But he has no choice – Misha won't find him again until the cat wishes to speak to him.

 

 

When the pair meet again, six days later, it is in a different place, and this time, Jensen does seek Misha out. He can smell the cat – smell Misha _on_ him, and knows the scent, knows how to track it. Misha's seed inside of him has let Jensen learn his scent permanently, able to find him anywhere, now.

The wolf stumbles into the clearing in human form, baring his teeth in a savage grin. His skin is mottled with bruises, bites and claw marks, some of his flesh ripped down to the very bone on his arms, back and legs. Blood coats him like a second skin and when he smiles, it mars his teeth, welling up around his smile and he spits the excess out on the ground. Misha's nostrils flare, unable to tell if it's Jensen's blood, or something else.

The cat rises to his feet as Jensen approaches him, standing tall despite the wounds on his body. His tail flicks in anger and annoyance, seeing that when he meets Jensen's eyes, the wolf isn't looking away.

He already broke one rule – may as well break the rest of them too.

 _"And what brings the pretty green-eyed wolf to me today?"_ he asks slowly.

"You were right," Jensen whispers, walking up to Misha until he is a foot from the large cat, who continues to stare at him with unblinking, glassy blue eyes. Misha cocks his head to one side in question. "Kill or be killed, kitty." And he grins again, running his fingers through the blood on his arms.

Misha rumbles curiously, leaning close and sniffing at the blood over Jensen's heart. The wolf holds still for him. _"You work quickly."_

"Still have some to find," Jensen replies apologetically. "Killed most of them in a day but some got away. Gotta hunt them down." He cocks his head to one side, and smiles. "Figured you might want to join me."

Misha's ears swivels forward. _"They are your family,"_ he says, cautiously, seeing the dangerous green light in Jensen's eyes. Jensen just shakes his head. _"Certainly more so than me."_

Jensen smiles, raising a hand and places it on the side of Misha's face, stepping closer until he can fist his hands in the soft black fur, slicking Misha's face with blood. "And now you are my equal," he whispers, his smile too-wide and bloody, cocking his head to one side. "And we shall hunt."

Misha chuckles, the pleasured sound curling low in Jensen's belly, and the wolf shivers gently. _"Have I created a little monster?"_ he asks with a low laugh, tail curving forward and stroking down Jensen's face. _"Red really is a remarkable color on you."_

"I shall paint myself with it," Jensen replies, needing to sate whatever desire Misha may have, even to see him covered in the blood of his enemies and family. "Let us hunt."

Misha's tail twitches again. " _Yes."_

 

 

Jensen had never intended to cross paths with the frightening creature who could sometimes be seen lurking in the shadows of the shadows, the big black cat with fur sleek and smooth as a swordsman's blade and dark as the starless sky, with eyes that glowed, blue and glassy and cold, who spoke in riddles designed to trick the mind and lure young wolves to their deaths.

Jensen thinks it was the best thing to have ever happened to him. Misha was not like the legends.

The legends tell of a dark shadow of a beast, with eyes like the moon that lurks in the forest, entraps the mind and lures young creatures to commit terrible acts of destruction and terror. They speak of ghostly howling at night, of the cries of a creature torn between pleasure and pain, sorrow and anger and lust.

What the legends do not mention, what they do not warn about, is the beast's disciple. The one with the innocent, guileless green eyes and the smile of a lost child and a snake charmer. The one with a siren's temptation and an alluring magnetism that captivates better than any magic the older creature may wield.

The legends do not warn of the wolf, the cat's equal and opposite. But they should. Because the wolf is the one you meet first.

 


End file.
